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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132193">League Drabble Collection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangecrushcrushcrush/pseuds/orangecrushcrushcrush'>orangecrushcrushcrush</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>League of Legends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, M/M, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Slice of Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:42:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangecrushcrushcrush/pseuds/orangecrushcrushcrush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A league of legends drabble collection featuring as many champions as I can cram in! </p><p>Might be changed to E-rated depending on future requests. Thank you very much for reading, and feel free to request anything! 🙇</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Camille/Reader, Fiddlesticks/Original Female Character(s), Fiora Laurent/Reader, Malzahar/Original Female Character(s), Yasuo/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Notes/Request List</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hello! This is a league of legends drabble collection. I'll be trying to cram as many champions in as possible LMAO </p><p>Some chapters are readers and some are self-inserts. The chapter title will update accordingly!</p><p> </p><p>Trades and requests are open, gender does not matter and sfw/nsfw is fine. Thank you very much for reading! 🙇</p><p> </p><p>To-do List:</p><p>- Riven</p><p>
  <strike>- Fiora</strike>
</p><p> </p><p>Chapter List:</p><p>1. Notes/Request List</p><p>2. Camille x F!reader</p><p>3. Fiddlesticks (SI) TW HORROR STORY</p><p>4. Fiora x F!reader</p><p>5. Yasuo (SI)</p><p>6. Malzahar (SI) TW HORROR STORY</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Camille (F Reader)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>with the creation of this collection, my self-indulgence now truly knows no bounds</p><p>some context for Camille is at the end notes!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Everyone around you whispers about her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That she doesn’t age, or that she runs her entire family’s business from the shadows, or that she’s replaced so many body parts with augmentations that she’s more machine than human.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are only half-true. Someone who is more machine than human would never spend fifteen minutes trying to get her tea just right and </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>fail at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not sure why I hired you,” she says, “When all you do is complain about how I make my tea.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s just bitter about the fact that whenever you make drinks, the pot empties out in minutes, and when she makes it, no one else even dares to take a sip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For someone who claims to be endlessly busy with </span>
  <em>
    <span>undercover espionage</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shady assignments</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>completing what she must to keep this city in order,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she spends a lot of time in the public eye. Ceremonies, conferences, galas - she’s everywhere. It’s uncertain whether she actually enjoys them, but she does show up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One time you asked her if she made clones of herself, just so they could take her place at parties when she’s busy strangling some underworld spy, or whatever, but she just looked at you, and started taking down notes, and if someday you walk down the street and an army of Lady Camilles comes marching towards you, you will know that you only have yourself to blame. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s rare that the two of you end up at the same events, but working for the filthy rich has its benefits. It doesn’t, however, mean you have enough in common to keep a conversation going for long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to dance?” you ask, desperately, because physical movement has always been an acceptable replacement for conversation. It is why one night stands were invented. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you not worried I might cut you?” she says, tapping the long, wicked swords that serve as her legs on the polished floor, and you realize why it is that no one else has asked her to dance, but no. You are not worried about getting cut. You are just worried about life in general, and honestly if she wanted to cut you she would have done it when you were complaining about the way she makes her drinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turns out that she is, as she is with all other things, a very accomplished dancer. And she does not cut you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She cut out her own heart, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they say. They say a lot of things. Even you have a limit to the amount of rumors you can believe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My hextech core is common knowledge,” she says, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Well then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They say you can only take away so much before you lose your humanity,” she says, “And so what do you think happens when you take out your heart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know feelings come from the brain and not the heart, right?” you say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” she says, after a long, long pause, and takes your cup of tea instead of hers, even though you try to protect it from her stupid, speedy, augmented hands.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next time you make drinks, the pot stays full for hours, and you only find out days later that it’s because she’s been eyeing anyone who tries to grab a cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since you will not stop complaining about my tea, I may as well drink yours,” she says, and takes the entire pot into her office. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Camille is a woman who swapped out the majority of her body for high-tech augmentations! </p><p>She had her heart removed by her then-lover to replace it with a stronger machine one, and the writers made a big fat deal about ~removing your humanity~ as if it's really sad and dramatic until you remember that the heart does not control emotions and that people who live in a city where things like HEART AUGMENTATION is possible would have known that probably but hey what do i know, i dont write angst</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fiddlesticks (SI)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: fiddlesticks</p><p>Ahhh I really really wanted to write a super shameless self-insert in first person and everything, and what worse/better place to put it than a drabble collection that hardly anyone reads LMAO 🤡 THANK YOU SO MUCH IF YOU'RE HERE READING THIS!! </p><p>Some context is in the end notes for anyone who isn't familiar with this character!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I hear my mother’s voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes she sounds different, or like she’s speaking from far away, or underwater, or whispering right into my ear. Sometimes she sounds exactly like I remember her to sound like. Those are the worst times, because then it’s hard to remember that it’s not her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so scared,” she says, and her voice sounds like a hundred rustling wings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don’t remember when things started to change. I can still see the kitchen, and her standing there by the sink, sorting the dishes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perfectly normal. Maybe a bit overcast, a bit windy, but that just lets a breeze flow through from the window. The window is closed. I can see her hair, moving gently in the stale air. She taps on the window pane, waving at me, and I can see her from where I’m standing outside on the road. Tap, tap, tap, and it sounds like branches scratching against the glass. What was her expression like? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I used to feel kind of alone. Not in a bad way, I mean, people say they feel alone and it's okay, it's not a big deal, and most of the time I agree. Once in a while I'll start wishing for company— not to go out with, or have deep conversations with or anything. Like a friend to sit with you while you both do your own thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, I don't wish for things like that anymore. Being alone is better. It's nice, and quiet, and if I'm lucky I don't see anything tapping on the window. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I've started covering my windows. Not, like, a lot. Not with anything solid. Just with those heavy curtains that they say block out light and stuff. It works really well. You can hardly see a thing, even if someone's standing right outside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My mother knocked on my door last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let me in," she said, even though she has the key. "It's in the house. Let me in." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers scrabble against the door, scratching, like they're too long and deformed to work a doorknob. It's not like I froze or anything, I just couldn't decide—I mean, there were so many things I could've done. I could have spoken to her. I could have looked out the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could have opened the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I didn't want to do any of those things, so I just stood there. I think she left sometime after sunrise. I didn't want to check. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She comes every night now, scratching at the door, saying the same thing over and over again. Once I tried talking to her, but she just started screaming, and it sounded like a hundred different people all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one else heard anything. I asked. That was the last time I went outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes she doesn't even talk. She just stands there, right outside, so close I can hear her breathing, almost too quickly, ragged and dry and uneven. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Open the door," she says. Ah, I want to. I'm so tired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I opened the door, and it looked at me with all its eyes, but it spoke with my voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTEXT:<br/>Fiddlesticks is an eldritch-style horror who doesn't speak on its own, but instead imitates the voices of its victims. It recently got a big glow-up from menacing scarecrow to full nightmare and I'm here for it, live your best life creepy lil buddy!</p><p>AGAIN IF ANYONE IS READING THIS THANK YOU OMG this is the most blatant of self-inserts and there'll probably be more agsvdjs</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fiora (F Reader)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There was a request for Fiora! Some context is in the end notes in case you aren't familiar with this sword weeb. Thank you so much for reading these drabbles!! :'D</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You have travelled to many, many places, but never a place as infuriating as this city. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A young woman travelling alone? No husband?” they ask, full of concern, and honestly maybe if they learnt some magic like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>literal rest of the world,</span>
  </em>
  <span> they wouldn’t have to rely on other people and weird magic-blocking stones to keep them safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>These small annoyances follow you everywhere, from the guards at the gate to the innkeeper who can’t seem to mind his own business. No wonder no one wants to visit this place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s doing just fine,” you say, nodding at the woman walking through the great hall. You didn’t know women were allowed to wield swords here. Maybe the city isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>backward-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They start murmuring and whispering, glancing at her as she strides out the doors . Never mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s only when you’re invited to watch a duel that you realize that the pretty swords people are carrying aren’t just for show. This city is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked up.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Your guide tries to explain the long and storied histories of duels to the death, the traditional method to restore one’s honor. You try to explain that now people use things like </span>
  <em>
    <span>lawsuits</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that </span>
  <em>
    <span>bankruptcy</span>
  </em>
  <span> and</span>
  <em>
    <span> ruined reputations</span>
  </em>
  <span> are much longer-lasting and satisfying than poking someone through the heart with a sword. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would be surprised how satisfying it can be,” says someone from behind you, and considering how many people she’s apparently dispatched, you suppose she would know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being the only woman in the room not completely aghast at the idea of a non-man using a sword apparently has its perks, like getting to tag along to one of the fanciest, most expensive-looking mansions you’ve ever seen. Does she </span>
  <em>
    <span>live </span>
  </em>
  <span>here?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Laurent family has many renowned swordmasters,” she says, like that explains everything. What, do they get the loser’s money along with their life?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a way,” she says, and you’re no less confused than when you first entered this city, but at least she doesn’t ask you about why you’re not married.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t, in fact, ask you much about anything at all. Whenever you see her she just comes over, always carrying some new sword and always nonchalantly trying to show it off to you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You have no idea about Demacian swords or Demacian craftsmanship or the time-honored Demacian way of stabbing anyone who’s offended you right in the face, but you’re more than happy to listen, and she’s more than happy to tell you about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The more you let her show off her swordplay and talk about it, the more enthusiastic she gets, to the point of actively searching you out if you haven’t wandered past her home in the last few days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like you mind- and also, no one asks you stupid, invasive questions when you’re around her, so it ends up that you’re usually around her. A lot. So much so that people start to gossip, as they inevitably do, especially in a city like this, and especially about a Laurent who refuses to marry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not mind,” she says, when you ask her about it. “I need only challenge them to a duel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There has to be a better way to quell rumors than with the sharp edge of a blade, but honestly, it seems to be working out well enough for her- and she’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>so happy</span>
  </em>
  <span> to talk to you about her family’s sword arts that you don’t want to bring up the idea of “less swords” anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTEXT:<br/>Fiora is a woman who loves the art of swordplay so much she has apparently lost her shit over it ever since she was a little kid! The writer/s make that clear by saying that she refuSEd to plAY witH DolLS and onLY PlayeD WitH SwoRDS as if a kid can't do both. Family and honor are very important to her, which is apparently why she only bothered to raise a fuss about her arranged marriage AT THE WEDDING ITSELF, the literal least honorable thing to do, but HEY I'm not the person who gets paid to write champion lore, what do I know</p><p>Demacia is a TERRIBLE place lmfao</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Yasuo (SI)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I wanted to post this really quick after the previous chapter so it wouldn't take up any extra attention asjfhsjdgh</p><p>Some context about this character is in the end notes as usual!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s a lonely, quiet road, on a lonely, quiet hill- the same dream I’ve been having for a while, and it’s a welcome sight. What more could you ask for? No weird flashbacks, no strange nightmares, just a nice, serene path to follow until I have to wake up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. The drunkard is new. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you lookin’ at?” he says, tilting his head and downing another mouthful of whatever he’s got in his flask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs when I ask him why he’s here, leaning against the tree trunk. “Nowhere else to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In my humble opinion there are many places to go, but he doesn’t look like the kind of person who appreciates sound advice when drunk. He looks like the kind of person who skulks around the bar until the very last minute, sulking and hoping to complain to anyone who’ll listen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to complain?” I say. He just stares.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It turns out that he does want to complain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to complain, and his story is very, very long. The few hours of sleep I normally get might not be enough for this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His speech is rambling and incoherent, but apparently he abandoned his post to join a battle nearby, and while he was gone, the teacher he was supposed to protect got murdered, and everyone thinks he did it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How strong is that drink?” I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hands his flask over, and honestly, it’s not nearly strong enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The longer he explains it, the more insane it sounds, and maybe it’s better to visualize it instead. It only takes a little while to set up the basic map on the grassy road: the dojo, his master, his fellow disciples, and him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Souma is not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mushroom,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he says indignantly, rearranging everything, and maybe it’s best to just take the flask away from him for now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Apparently it’s okay if Master Souma is an acorn instead. I split it in half for symbolism. He doesn’t find it nearly as amusing, but it’s fine. Not everyone’s born with the right sense of humor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing much else to talk about, once everything’s been said and done. He’s finished his story, the drink’s run out, and apparently even the power of lucid dreaming can’t fill it back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should leave,” he says, “before someone else comes ‘round to try their luck against my blade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They might be able to kill </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m dreaming. I’ll be fine. I’ll kill </span>
  <em>
    <span>them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at me like I’m a crazy person. Has your life ever reached the point where even your dream figments think you’re insane? It’s not the best feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I get up, and he goes back to looking at his flask like staring at it will magically bring him more alcohol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think I did it?” he mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did what? Kill his teacher? Obviously not. Look at him. This alcoholic can’t plan his next twenty-four hours, let alone a murder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I say, because to say the rest would be insulting, even to a dream person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks. “Guess that makes two of us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I raise my empty hand in a toast, and he raises his empty flask in return. From a distance, far, far away, I can hear the sound of the alarm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTEXT: <br/>Yasuo is/was the top disciple of his sword...school...dojo thing! Everyone left him in charge of protecting the elders while they went to battle and he was like nah, went off to try and help, and when he came back everyone was dead lmao good job </p><p>He ran away before they could run a trial, because he wanted to find the real killer asap, but he trained his whole life to use his BODY and not his BRAIN so how's that workin out for you pal?</p><p>---</p><p>all the SI chapters are gonna be pretty chill asjfhskdjg there's nothing much going on, I hit my peak with Fiddle and now I can die happy</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Malzahar (SI)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: Fiddlesticks v2</p><p>Can you tell which champions are my favorite???? just wondering, can u tell??? its subtle but if you look really really hard there might be signs</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>My neighbor is driving me insane. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Look, okay, I bought this place because of the location and the price, and it’s supposed to be in a good neighborhood, so how the hell did I end up with the only clown in this entire apartment complex living above me? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not asking for much. Stop thumping on the ceiling. Stop pacing. Stop muttering. It’s 2 a.m., for fuck’s sake, we’re all human here, right? We need sleep. We don’t need to be kept awake when we have work in the morning. It’s called basic decency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried knocking on the ceiling, but it didn’t do jack shit. Of course.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I went up to knock on his door. Her door. Couldn’t really tell from the muttering. It was a mistake. Have you ever met someone who’s, like, in a cult? You can just tell sometimes, right? You can just tell. They have this look in their eyes. Like they’ll stab you the moment their messiah tells them to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, anyway, I had to listen to her go on and on about their </span>
  <em>
    <span>Great Prophet</span>
  </em>
  <span> or whatever for like an hour. In the end I was so desperate to get away that I forgot to tell her about the noise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s even worse now. The muttering just goes on and on and on the entire night. Sometimes it’s like there’s more than one voice, and if she’s having her creepy cult friends over I will lose my shit, I swear to god. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is an animal up there. A fucking animal or something. I called the cops, and they went up for all of ten minutes, came back down and said they found “nothing out of the ordinary” in the apartment. Nothing out of the ordinary? </span>
  <em>
    <span>I could hear it screaming.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I think she knows I’m the one who called the cops. I could see her watching from the landing above me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s definitely screaming. I don’t know if it’s an animal or...not an animal. But I can hear it screaming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She came down and knocked on my door today. I opened it (a mistake), and she just barged in, saying she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so sorry about all the noise</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me make it up to you, do you want your fortune told?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I just want her to shut up, but she’d already started spilling her cards out of the bag and onto the table. They weren’t any cards I’ve ever seen before. Weird, twisted things. And all that </span>
  <em>
    <span>sand.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see it,” she said, grabbing at her cards with feverish glee. See </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She didn’t even bother turning them over. I mean, not like I wanted to see what was underneath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t explain, she just kept saying</span>
  <em>
    <span> I can see it, I can see it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> over and over again until I just shoved her out the door. I can’t get her smile out of my mind. So much teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She left her cards behind, but I haven’t been able to throw them away yet. For some reason, I don’t want to touch them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’ve been having these weird dreams lately. I can’t remember much about them, but the one thing I can’t forget is the sky. Dark and vast and looming above me, an almost physical presence, like it’s trying to reach down and- I don’t know. The sky can’t touch you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It really feels like it might, though, in those dreams. Just warp and twist itself and swallow you whole. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s no more muttering from the apartment above. But I can hear other things. Scratching, skittering things. I swept the cards into a bag and threw them in the bin, but I can’t seem to get rid of all the sand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I opened my door yesterday, and she was already standing right outside, smiling. So much teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you see it?” she asked. “Can you see it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She keeps coming down, standing outside, going on and on about her prophet. I don’t even open the door, she just...knows I’m here. She can’t see me. There is </span>
  <em>
    <span>no way</span>
  </em>
  <span> she can see me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He sees you,” she says. “Can you see it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I haven’t slept much. I don’t want to dream of that sky again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m going to get out. I’ll stay in a hotel or something until I can rent another place, but there is no way in hell I’m staying here with this crazy person and her crazy smile and her crazy- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door is open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so dark outside. I thought the corridors were always lit. It’s a good neighborhood. I open the door, just a little bit more, and where there is supposed to be a carpeted floor outside, there’s nothing but sky. Nothing but a vast, dark, empty sky no matter where I look, no matter how hard I look- I shouldn’t be looking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slam the door shut, but it’s behind me, it’s everywhere, nothing but the empty void, and I try to close my eyes, but I can’t. I can see it. I can see it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTEXT:<br/>Malzahar used to be a very famous fortune-teller! He stumbled across an ancient evil in his travels across the deserts and went completely insane. Nowadays, he runs a cult dedicated to ending the world and embracing the nothingness of the void. His followers claim to receive horrific visions, and he himself is able to summon and control strange, crawling creatures and create deep, cavernous rifts filled with nothing but darkness. Don't let anyone tell you it's too late to change careers!</p><p>---</p><p>I LOVE THIS GUY, HE'S SO FUN TO PLAY. They recently gave him a glow-up/ simpbux face reveal and of course he's good-looking lmao. I liked him better when his face was nothing but complete darkness but all good things must come to an end</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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